


a promise made, a debt unpaid

by Kells



Series: gifts, requests, and other little bits [1]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky has a bat and he's not afraid to use it, F/M, Female Steve Rogers, Gen, Protective Bucky Barnes, Rule 63, Steve Rogers Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-26
Updated: 2013-11-26
Packaged: 2018-01-02 17:16:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1059466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kells/pseuds/Kells
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stevie is brave, Bucky near fearless; they are both really clueless a lot of the time, but at least they have a bat. (five promises made about four years apart and one that lasts a lifetime)</p>
            </blockquote>





	a promise made, a debt unpaid

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ariadne_odair](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariadne_odair/gifts).



> Happy birthday, Ariadne! I know it's not actually your birthday yet but I was excited so you may have an early present! I guess if you read it section by section it will afford you nearly a week of birthday celebration??? Thank you for letting me borrow your lovely Stevie and also little Bucky who is my faaavourite (you may notice I skipped the cereal box years) they are much fun and I enjoy them always. I hope this will be fun for you! It was much fun for me.
> 
> Section titles are from Robert Frost's Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening (Clearly if there's enough Bucky in a fic it comes out Winter-themed even if that was not the plan.)

**I (his house is in the village though)**

Stevie jerks in surprise when a voice hisses in her ear. It’s way past lights-out, but she already knows that Bucky Barnes on a mission is not a force that can be contained by mere rules.

“Hey, you asleep?”

“Yup.”

That doesn’t stop him either, which is not unexpected: less than a week ago they’d only just met, and she’d said quite clearly that she wanted to be alone. He’d taken it upon himself to entertain her anyway. She’d liked his company a lot more than she’d expected, though, and he must not mind hers since he’s been showing up constantly ever since.

“You don’t have to worry about anyone bothering you at night, you know, it’s really hard to get in here.”

She gives him the driest expression her six-year-old face can sustain: he’s already come check on her twice this week. Bucky responds defensively.

“Well, I can, but I’m quiet! And fast. Arnold and his goons are a buncha oafs, they’d wake Father Kerr, even, and he sleeps in the rectory!”

Stevie giggles in spite of herself, and her friend’s smile is a bright flash in the shadows. She scoots over a little to make room and he sits down on the edge of her bed, still grinning.

“I mean it, though. And you don’t have to worry about Arnold anyway, I already told him I’ll knock his teeth out if he tries anything.”

Now that is surprising. It’s not the threat of violence – she’s only been here a fortnight but she already knows that’s par for the course- so much as that he takes it for granted that it falls to him to protect her. This thing with Bucky still feels new and fragile to Stevie- she’s not used to such fierce friendship.  She doesn’t mean to seem so disbelieving, she’s just having trouble believing this can be hers without a catch. Bucky, for his part, takes her silence for a lack of faith in his protective capacity and answers all the more earnestly.

“I will,” he insists. “I have a bat, it’s under my pillow. Unless- I could keep it here? Then you can hit him yourself if I’m busy!”

Bucky looks frankly delighted by the prospect. Stevie thinks it’s kind of neat that he doesn’t seem to notice she probably wouldn’t be able to hit hard enough to make much difference against someone like Arnold. Instinctively, she also sees what it means that he’s even thinking about leaving something of his- really his, not shared orphanage property- in her care indefinitely. She considers his offer seriously, as seems appropriate.

“Naw,” she decides, “You keep it. You probably need it more anyway.  For baseball and stuff, not just hitting jerks.”

“Yeah, I do,” he concedes. His voice grows determined. “But you holler if anyone bothers you, and they can just see whether I was joking.”

“Okay,” she agrees around a yawn. “Thanks. Will you do my hair again tomorrow? I think you’re getting better.”

“I can try,” he says dubiously. Hitting is a lot easier than plaiting.

“I’ll see you in the morning, then?”

She still sounds so unsure, it reminds him of his own first weeks here. He’d been confused and sad all the time, barely sure he’d still be there the next day, much less anyone else. He grins at her again, bigger to show he really means it.

“I’ll be here, Stevie. Night!”

Slipping back into the boys’ dorm, Bucky thinks about how happy she’d been the first time he’d produced something more or less like the plait she’d trusted him to produce. He was really surprised when she’d asked him to do it again the next day; he hadn’t thought the first effort had been up to much. He liked being able to help, though, and it’s true he’s been improving.

If he’s been staying up later than he should, slowly working three fraying bits of twine together, that’s nobody’s business but his own. Well, and Brendan’s, maybe, but Cat’s cradle is stupid. Bucky's doing him a favour, really; Brendan definitely needs to get a different hobby.

 

**II (between the woods and frozen lake)**

“Sister V said you were poorly.”

“Yeah, well, what do you care?”

He cringes, knowing that he’s being too harsh, but he can’t help feeling surly. This may actually be the worst week of his life. It had started out pretty straightforward: Mickey Egan called Stevie names, so Bucky hit him. He didn’t even think about it, that was just how things worked. Stevie, unbelievably, disagreed. In retrospect he thinks she may have been mostly upset that he was bruised and bleeding, but at the time he’d been outraged that she was (he thought) taking Mick’s side. If he’s honest, that had hurt more than his actual injuries. He’d snapped that if she didn’t need him she could just fight her own fights, and she yelled back that she would, and he was a jerk for assuming she couldn’t in the first place.

He’d thought it’d just blow over- they’ve had shouting matches before and been fast friends again by dinner- but it’s been four days now and the absence of her is grating on his last nerve. It hasn’t helped that he got sick practically the same minute she’d given up on him, so now he’s confined to the sickroom with this stupid flu. He’s so bored, and he hasn’t seen anyone (Stevie) in days, and to add insult to injury his hair is too long and it’s making his fading bruises itch. He’s too sick to do anything about any of these things, though, and Sister Margaret says he’s contagious anyway so he has to just lie here shivering and aching and hating his hair. And maybe worrying about whether Stevie’s okay. He really just wants them to be friends again, but now she’s (finally) here, hesitating by his bed like she hasn’t had to do in years, and apparently he can’t even say a civil word. He shuts his eyes and groans in frustration, but struggles to sit up so she’ll know he’s not trying to get her to leave. Stevie, who he secretly thinks has always been braver than he is, presses on with what she came to say.

“I’m really sorry, I know you were trying to help.”

Of course she’d want to apologise when all she’d done was tell him the truth.

“Yeah, well. I could have asked if you even wanted my help. You’ve been fine this week, haven’t you?”

He can’t keep the hurt out of his voice, but the words are barely out before she’s denying the sentiment behind them.

“I’d have been here sooner if- I didn’t know you were sick, Buck, I- I thought you were avoiding me.”

Somehow this is worse than any amount of grudge-bearing. He’s been so mad at her for just walking out on him, and the whole time she thought he’d done the same.

“I wouldn’t! I won’t ever do that to you.”

She comes to sit by him, and he can already feel some of the week’s tension draining away. A clumsy, gentle hand pushes his hair out of his face, and he thinks he might not hate it as much as he thought. He’s about to grin for what feels like the first time in days, but then he registers the tears in her eyes.

“Aw, Stevie, don’t.“

“I don’t like it when we fight, Bucky.”

He feels like the worst kind of scum- 'course he’s not the only one who’s had a hard time this week.

“Me either, but it don’t matter, okay? Family is family even when we fall out.”

“Yeah?”

“Come on, am I ever wrong?”

This gets him that classic Stevie look, the half-glare, half-smirk that says “you’re so stupid I don’t even have a word for it, why are we friends,” but she smiles for real when he laughs in response so he thinks it was an okay thing to say. Eventually, she settles in beside him and, at his insistence, produces her sketchbook to show him what she’s been working on in his absence. 

It really has been an awful week, but it’s getting better.

 

**III (the darkest evening of the year)**

Bucky’s next birthday looms large on the horizon. The orphanage rule is not so much that you can leave when you turn 18 as that you have to or else, but Bucky is both ready and willing. He’s already got a really-quite-decent job at the docks, and he’s beside himself with excitement about living in a better neighbourhood come spring. It’s not too far from the home, though, so Stevie thinks he might still visit even if it won’t be every day. On the other hand, sometimes the way he talks about the future makes it sound like he’s never ever coming back if he can help it.

The nuns have noticed too. Stevie understands that they want to help, she really does, but she might scream (or worse, cry) if she has to have another conversation about windows opening when doors close. She gets it, okay, people move on. It’s not the end of the world, she’s been on her own before (even if she can barely remember it) and she really is happy for him. If anyone deserves better things, it’s Bucky. On good days, she mostly believes this. On bad days, she still knows it’s true but can’t help wondering what on earth she’s going to do without him. He seems to think she’ll join him at some point, it sounds like, but Stevie just knows that if he leaves they’ll never quite get back what they have now. Worrying about it won’t change a thing, though, so she shoves it all out of her mind as many times a day as necessary and carries on with an increasingly fixed grimace-grin in place. She even manages to look interested in his litany of fittings and facilities (the door actually locks properly, the heating mostly works, the neighbours don’t seem to be complete loons: it’s basically paradise).

She doesn’t fully understand until he finally decides he’s ready to unveil the most amazing apartment in the history of flats. He drags her out to inspect it with an almost fanatical gleam of anticipation in his eye. She’s doing her best to be supportive, ignoring the growing ache in her chest, when something he says registers as illogical.

“Wait, why do you need two rooms?”

That stops him cold. He stares at her disbelievingly, then speaks very slowly, as if to an especially stupid child. Or Arnold. She would bristle, but she’s busy being gobsmacked.

“Because there’s two of us?”

She blinks. He waits. She blinks again. There are definitely no tears in her eyes. Understanding dawns slowly on his face, and Bucky reacts with uncharacteristic gentleness. (To her confusion, not her tears. Of which there are none.)

“I thought Sister Margaret told you about this, she’s been giving me grief about looking after you for maybe a year now. I asked Sister V if you could come with me fully six months ago- I didn’t say anything ‘cos I didn’t want to get your hopes up if she was gonna say no- and after about a week she said if you wanted to they thought it was a good idea. I really thought she’d talked to you first.”

“No, she- I didn’t realize that was what she meant! She kept talking about the end of an era and making opportunities where we find them, I thought she wanted me to get used to the idea of you leaving!”

Bucky starts to laugh. At her complete surprise, at himself for not realizing sooner what was going through her head, in relief that there’s nothing more serious wrong.

“Jeez, no wonder you’ve been so out of it. I’m sorry, Stevie, I really thought you were just worried about missing the home when we leave. You will come, right?

He’s the only person she knows who can sound so cocksure and so vulnerable at the same time.

“Yes! If you’re sure.“

“‘course I’m sure. You and me against the world, right, isn’t that the game?”

“Yeah, but your head’s been so full of Brooklyn Heights I wasn’t sure how much you wanted to bring with you from before.”

That’s a layered admission if there ever was one, but Bucky handles it with his usual tact. Which is to say he treads roughshod over any possible gravitas but still manages to be sweetly sincere.

“Aw, you know I’ll always want you here. Forever and always, I swear.“

She’s not sure that can be true- he means it now, of course, but eventually there must come a time when he wants more than just her, right? A real family, like they never had? But as she takes in the details of his- their- tiny flat, she knows she isn’t being fair. He’s been moving things in slowly over the last few weeks, and there’s just no way he would have put this much thought into the little details just for himself. He’s set up the table to give her access to the window for when she inevitably ends up sketching whole evenings away. The slightly ragged rug is in exactly the shade of blue she likes. He’s even started setting her things up, apparently, since some of her books are mixed in with his on the shelf already. She shakes herself. Of course they’re family, and of course it’s real. Of course he wouldn’t just up and leave.

“Well, good. Someone has to show you what normal people do. Like asking a girl to move in with you before stealing half her stuff, you punk! I thought I was going mad looking for things that weren’t turning up.”

Bucky laughs, shoving at her affectionately, then grabs her hand and pulls her towards the rooms so he can continue the tour. She lets herself be pulled, laughing and protesting and feeling freer than she has in ages.

**IV (to ask if there is some mistake)**

“The next time I see that punk I’m gonna take his head off at the shoulders.”

“What? Why? That’s violent even for you. And what are you doing back already?”

Bucky had had such high hopes this time, too. He’d run into Brendan by chance, and the first thing the guy had done was ask about Stevie. Bucky had sensed a golden opportunity and set up the date without even consulting Stevie. Or Marianne, but he was sure enough that she’d show if he asked nicely. Stevie, in contrast, often worked pretty hard to get out of these outings. But Brendan, he thought, was a good, safe bet. They knew each other already, for one, so Stevie couldn’t accuse him of sticking her with strangers. He’d even asked after her, for goodness’ sake!

So out they’d gone, to a bar that was not too much like a dive, where they’d had a completely cordial drink, the four of them, before heading over to the dance hall. It had been going so well, he’d thought. Bucky had still been congratulating himself when he saw Brendan lounging against a wall with a drink in his hand, completely alone with nary a Stevie in sight. He even had the gall to wave cheerily when Bucky glared in his direction.

Once he realized she had really left for the night without saying a word, he begged off with Marianne, who was happy enough to stay on without him, and headed for the flat without a second thought. Last he’d seen, Brendan was offering to get Marianne a drink. The dirty punk. He’d come home to find Stevie where she sat now, sketching placidly at the kitchen table. She appeared completely serene, if somewhat chilled, and not at all like she’d just caused a guy to run six blocks with his heart in his mouth afraid she was sick or scared or hurting.

“Did he ditch you? What a creep.”

“Naw, I just wanted to leave.”

“Because he was a creep?”

“No, because we were done.”

“Cos he was a creep!”

“Will you leave off with that? We had a drink, you were there for that. We didn’t feel like dancing. We talked a bit. He was boring, I was boring, we got bored. We called it a night. We could see you were having fun, so he walked me to the corner. I came here. I drew a picture of the Gleesons’ cat. I’m boiling water to make tea, you came in and vowed to kill a guy for no reason. That’s everything that has happened to me since the last time you saw me. Really. You can stop looking for your bat.”

“It’s under your dresser. He could at least have seen you home.”

“I’ve walked home in the dark before, Buck. Why’s it under my dresser?”

“I like knowing you’ll have it if you need it. You sure you’re okay?”

“Sure as sure. I’m fine, you should go back if you want. It’s not that late.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” 

Stevie tries not to wonder if maybe there are a couple of different promises mixed together there. He sounds much more serious than seems necessary- by her count, not one thing has happened. If he’s not going to come out and say it, though, she’s not going to ask. She lets him chivvy her into her room, still grumbling about stubborn creatures walking home in winter and arriving half-frozen. When he gets like this it’s not worth the energy putting up much of a fight. She reminds herself sternly that he’ll be back to chattering about Rose or Lola or Marianne pretty much as soon as he calms down enough to stop mothering her to death. If there’s one thing you learn growing up in 1930s Brooklyn it’s that you should be thankful for what you have because pining after things you’ll never get doesn’t help anyone.

She closes her eyes before he can come back and take it into his head to revive the awful shadow puppetry of their youth in a terrible and ultimately unnecessary effort to cheer her up. She can only tell him so many times that she’s completely fine.  She is tired, though, and she falls asleep still thinking about misshapen hand-eagles.

She’s dead to the world by the time Bucky looks in, so she has no way to know how long he sits by her, savouring the sight of Stevie resting easy. Warm enough, which they still don’t take for granted, not wracked by the harsh cough that keeps her up some nights, not even trying to disguise an asthmatic wheeze so he won’t worry. She’s really asleep, the tiniest smile on her lips as if her dreams amuse her. He leans back as comfortably as the flimsy chair by her bed will allow and breathes in the peace of it. Brendan is still a creep, though.

They might never be able put words to what it is they are to each other, but for all they’ll never talk about it she’s not the only one who listens for the echoes of everything unsaid between them.

 

 **V (but I have promises to keep)**  

The only time Stevie actually demands a promise in so many words she’s mostly joking when she does. Probably. Maybe. Not really.

“Promise you’ll come back.“

It’s a stupid thing to say, but she’s not really thinking about whether her request is reasonable. He’s standing there grinning from ear to ear at the letter in his hands, and she’s trying so hard to be pleased and proud that he’s going to serve with the 107th exactly like he wants, but her mind is screaming that it’s done now, it’s only a matter of time, and once he leaves it will be the longest they’ve been apart since before she turned seven. It sounds so weak and selfish, but once the words are out she finds she doesn’t want to take them back. Bucky’s face is carefully blank for a moment, then he seems to decide to play along.

“On my mother’s name or it don’t count for blazes?”

Stevie knows she should put a stop to this. She’s never wanted Bucky to make promises he can’t keep, so she should beg off, shove him away affectionately and change the subject to something safer. He’d probably let her, too, but there’s a something in his voice, a mostly-hidden fear, which makes her think he might need this too. She affects the casual detachment that has already served her well lying to enlistment officers.

“Them’s the rules, pal.”

Bucky hesitates for a second, then raises his right hand just as Stevie is wondering where this can be leading.  

“I, James Buchanan Barnes, swear on all I hold dear, including the loving memory of my mother Winifred, God rest her, that I will do everything in my power to come home to Stephanie Rogers so she can spend the rest of our lives telling me what to do and getting paint on my good shirts.”

The words are teasing, but his face and voice are deadly serious.

She can’t remember why she thought any part of this could be a joke.

Neither of them laughs.

 

**I/VI (and miles to go before I sleep; and miles to go before I sleep)**

“Don’t, Clint.”

He’s not sure what she’s asking him (not) to do. He hadn’t come to try and talk her into anything; he just thought she shouldn’t be alone. Or mostly alone. The man on the other side of the glass is out for the count, but the Avengers aren’t exactly going to forget that the last three times they’ve crossed paths with him he’s been hell-bent on doing as much damage as he could. Especially to their fearless leader, who had actually been a lot less fearless than usual, and hadn’t that been horrible for everyone involved. Clint has to admit, though, that the Winter Soldier is a lot less intimidating under heavy sedation. In spite of himself, his eyes wander to the weaponised arm that has held up even against Thor. He knows Stevie’s following his gaze, and probably his thoughts, because her voice is hard as nails, if a little brittle, when she speaks again.

“He’s still James Barnes. I won’t give up on him.”

In the end, Clint thinks it may actually be that simple. That shouldn’t make sense, especially to him- if anyone knows about brainwashing it’s Clint, and he knows from personal experience that you don’t just wake up and get over the experience even if the love of your (two) life(times) is waiting for you on the other side. But this is Captain America after all- actually, screw that noise, it’s Stephanie Rogers. If there’s one thing Clint would stake his bow on even in this demented Avengers world with its Norse god/aliens and Soviet cryo-freezers and science genius Gamma monsters, it’s that Stevie would rather die than break a promise.

“That’s good enough for me, Cap.”

She looks up, her gaze sharp. Clint winces at the pain and even suspicion in her eyes- God help them if someone else she trusts lets her down now. Disappointing her is definitely not on the team’s agenda, though, so he holds his ground.

“I can’t speak for everyone, but if you’re sure this is how you want to do this you should know Tasha and I are in. And Tony, we can probably assume. I haven’t talked to Bruce or Thor yet but I really can’t see either of ‘em picking Fury over you. Hey, look at that, apparently I can speak for everyone! I guess you’re stuck with us, Cap.”

Stevie doesn’t say anything, but she does relax her stance from battle-ready to almost battle-ready. Clint takes a calculated risk and presses his advantage.

“So what’cha think? You ready to fight for your man?”

She still sounds more fragile than he’d like, but there’s real warmth there, and the strength they’ve all come to count on is back in force.

“Til the end.”

It sounds like a vow. Clint’s not completely sure she’s even talking to him, really, but Stevie makes a respectable effort to return his too-cocky grin.  Hawkeye feels his confidence flooding back. Apparently the Winter Soldier’s finally met his match- just really, really not the way anyone was expecting when he first showed up. There may be no quick fix, but they’ll get there. And in the meantime, he’s beginning to think some of this might actually be fun.

“So how’s he going to react when Tony inevitably tries to trick out that scary-ass arm?”

“Well, you know, he used to have this bat...”


End file.
